


The run up to the throne

by SketchLockwood



Category: The Cousins' War Series - Philippa Gregory, The Hollow Crown: The Wars of the Roses (2016), The Sunne in Splendour - Sharon Kay Penman, The Wars of the Roses Fiction, The White Queen (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 22:44:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11793033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchLockwood/pseuds/SketchLockwood





	The run up to the throne

Ludlow 1450.

"I'm playing the knight!" Edmund shouted.

"No! I am the older one. I should be the knight!" Edward protested.

"You're always the knight and it isn't fair. If papa was here he would say-"

"But he is not here, and I am. I am and whilst papa is not here I am lord of this castle, not you."

"whilst you may be lord of this castle." Andrew Trollope spoke with a settled tone, wrapping one arm around the young Earl of March. "You are most positively not in charge. I've never known a lad like you, of your tender years, in charge. Whilst you may be lord of Ludlow and indeed half a Shropshire-"

"Earl of the welsh marches, actually." Edward corrected, with no lack of arrogance.

"Be that as it may. You have a nurse maid no?"

"Edmund has a nursemaid. Me I-"

"Still have a nursemaid, arseling." The insult was added with a playful clip of the ear. "Now why don't the both of you play nice? There's nothing to say you cannot both be knights. Sure as not, you'll both one day be. Unless the plague hits."

"Then I will be knight first! I will be the better one." Edmund said too quickly, losing his words as his brother tripped him face first onto the ground.

Trollope just rolled his eyes.

Calais 1459

He'd regret it. He did not know how, no, but my god, that swine would regret it. Edward of March paced back and forth the expanse of the great chamber. His mind racing, yes, yes, my god he'd regret it.

In truth, he could not say he understood everything. Would not pretend that he did. He was not privy to all that had happened, did not know all that in which his father was involved. Did not recognise the exact enormity of the political situation as much as did, say his cousin Warwick of his uncle Salisbury.

Yet he could he angry, for all that he understood, he could and should be angry. That he knew. Papa had been betrayed. Had been betrayed by Trollope, of all people. Trollope, the man who had served at Ludlow. The man whom had romped with he and Edmund in boyhood. Andrew Trollope the loyal now traitor. Oh he'd regret that.

Ludlow had been reduced to smoke. At least, that's what he had been told. Ludlow was in ashes, and all because of Trollope. They had a strategy, a manner of defence should siege happen. A plan that would have protected the townspeople. Yet... Trollope had sold that out. Trollope had betrayed such a plan to the enemy and whatever chance they may have had at a loose won victory was desecrated. For what?

To be on the winning side of glory. A so called, cheap glory.

Well when he thought of a strategy he would show Trollope the cost of treason.

***

March 1461

William Hastings scribbled as the words were spoken. Sat there, in the chair of estate in the Palace of Westminster sat his master, Edward formerly Earl of March, now in name, King of England. "Note this down." He spoke, his accent almost so tinted in Welsh as to make him impossible to understand. "I call upon you, noble lords, to take up your arms and muster men to serve your king, king Edward, and in so doing defeat these, our enemies, in England and in Wales alike. Do too bring with you mercy and leniency where it may and must be found. Promise to fight wars with enemies not commons. Bring to your banners only those who might obey these rules, and the laws of God that you shall not make war against innocents. The women, the children, the townspeople of England and Wales shall under me be safe." Hastings pen paused only a moment as the young king gulped ale, closing his eyes a moment as he wetted his lips. "I want peace in England, William. I want peace, god damn it. This country has been so broken, and each man hates another and for what? Whom they follow to be king? It was not always that way I remember. Some say it would be easier if it were not thus."

"Never me your grace."

"No, of course, I would not accuse you of anything remotely such. You remember how things were before, saw my fathers frustration."

"Saw his rage when he let no others see. Not even yourself, your grace."

"No. And it should never have had to be that way. I do not want to see this bloodshed William. I do not want men and boys slaughtered in my name, but I'll be damned if with it too are women and children."

"Like at Ludlow."

"Ludlow." Edward whispered the word. "Yes." Trollope... the name crossed his mind, darkening his thoughts. "Add this." He bit his lip a moment. "I beg of you if you know those great Lancastrians, I will offer redemption to all who submit. I will show mercy to all inclined now toward me. All except those I now name, upon which I offer the sum of 100 pounds each for they who destroy and bring from life my lords and commons namely, Andrew Trollope, those Bastards of Exeter both, William Grimsby, Robert Whittingham, Thomas Tresham, Thomas Fitzharry and Clapham the younger. Traitors each."

***

Towton, 1461

The only scent stronger than blood was that of vomit. The soil ran red, not even maroon. Hastings had seen nothing like it, nothing at all like it. Bodies strewn across what looked like the length of England. Walls, mounds of deceased human flesh. The battle had been paused twice, twice, for men to clear away the dead and kick aside the dying. Even now, the screams of those barely clutching to life could probably be heard in York.

"That's it, cough it up lad." He heard Norfolk speak as he clapped a lad over the back as he almost choked on his own sick. "I remember my first battle." Norfolk spoke in gentle tones. "And it did not end dissimilar. You'd not be the first if you had shit yourself on the field today."

"This was no ordinary battle, and he'd have known if he had not shown up in just enough time to turn the battle in our favour." Edward's voice made the chamberlain jump. His hand was firm as he clapped him on the back. "You are holding up well I trust?" Hastings nodded, though in truth he was not sure he was.

"Yes Edward."

"Good. Then there is much to be done. Trollope, well he is dead and so many others. Many of my concerns are ended, but not all." The young king looked tired, his eyes dark and heavy, reddened around the edges. "Beaufort got away, with just a hairs width the swine and Margaret will be half way to Scotland by now, if not boarding her ship to France with Henry. I have won, and yet what is there to show of it? I am no further forward than before this bloodshed."

"You have shown the country you are truly king." Warwick spoke as he half marched toward them. "You are king of this land and the commons have seen that yours is a cause backed by God and your enemies have seen what befalls those who stand against you." The Earl gripped Edward by both biceps. "God sakes man do not tell me you have gained nothing, this is not the time to mope. Have you sent for your horse?"

"Horses?" Hastings asked.

"We make pursuit. To York. Stay with Norfolk and supervise the clear up. Many bodies, many names, I want someone we trust to name those Lancastrian bastards who perished." Warwick did not give another glance as he headed toward their horses. 


End file.
